


Wait On

by redtailedhawk90



Category: The Room Where It Happened (Podcast)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Bullying, Child-on-Child Physical Abuse, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-13
Updated: 2019-02-13
Packaged: 2019-10-27 12:29:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17766806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/redtailedhawk90/pseuds/redtailedhawk90
Summary: /wāt ɑn/verbTo soar either circling or hanging on the wind above the falconer waiting for quarryTseer Darkfeather is born with the knuckles of his right talon stained like ink.  Wyatt Vancroft is born with a black mark like a bruise high on his left cheek.





	Wait On

Tseer Darkfeather is born with the knuckles of his right talon stained like ink.  His parents look at each other over the shards of his egg. They think: What kind of person will he be, that his introduction to his soulmate will be a closed fist?  They spend his eyas years teaching him the value of gentle words and soft touches, showing him the peace of a morning in the field. When they take him to school, they drop him off each day with a hug and a reminder to be kind.

Tseer is seven years old when he first stands up to a bully on the playground.  Liamond Brayte is a hulking child, several years older than Tseer. He tries to avoid them most days, having been on the wrong side of their cruelty more than once, but this morning, he sees them and their friends standing in a circle, kicking and jeering at something he couldn’t see.  His stomach sours and his talons curl into fists reflexively. He thinks of his parents’ words, and tries to keep a level head--until he hears a cry coming from the poor soul the bullies have trapped.

Before he can stop himself, he is sprinting across the yard.  By sheer luck--or perhaps he is swifter than he thinks--he slips between the three older children and plants himself between them and their victim.  He spares one quick glance for the tiefling girl on the ground, to make sure she is still conscious, and rears up to his full height, spreading his wings to seem larger.

He is small, has always been and will always be, and Liamond sneers down at him.  Tseer is reminded of cold autumn dusks, alone with the sheep in the pasture, when the howls of the coyotes start up in the hills.  The thing about coyotes is: they’re smart. They know when the shepherd isn’t looking, and they know to come in the dusk when the gloom can hide them.  They’ll avoid traps, and laugh at your attempts to scare them away. In the end, if they want your sheep, you need to be prepared to fight them off. Tseer’s fists are clenched at his sides, and he lifts his chin in defiance.

When Liamond takes a threatening step forward, he doesn’t hesitate.  He tenses his legs and shoots up, his fist connecting with the underside of their chin.  The bully’s head snaps back and they stumble. He stays close and jabs with his left arm, and hits them square in the nose.  It immediately begins to bleed. Stepping back, Tseer resumes a defensive position in front of his charge. One of the other kids lashes out and pulls his wing to knock him off-balance, but lets go quickly when he rakes his talons down their face.  He’s about to follow through with a well-placed kick to the groin when he’s grabbed from behind and lifted off the ground. He struggles, wings flailing wildly, and finally is able to break the hold by bending down and full on biting the arm wrapped around his chest.  The child screams and backs away, dropping him. 

Tseer crouches over the tiefling, ready to attack again, but the fight is over as quickly as it began.  Liamond is holding their nose and crying, the bully he scratched has run away, and the one he bit is cradling his arm, pressing their shirt against the angry wound.  Still, he remains vigilant until the teachers come to collect them all. 

Later that night, his parents lecture him about pacifism.  It isn’t worth it, they say, to become an aggressor to defeat an aggressor.  You sully yourself in the process, and it only escalates the violence. He nods along with their lecture, but remains silent.  He doesn’t tell them about the fire that lit in his chest, about the look the tiefling had given him, how she had hugged him and whispered  _ thank you _ before she went home.  The next day when the teachers ask him to apologize, he keeps his beak closed and fixes a predatory glare on Liamond.  He gets detention, but it’s worth it for the way the smirk slides off their face.

He thinks: Nonviolence is well and good, but some people deserve to be punched.

* * *

Wyatt Vancroft is born with a black mark like a bruise high on his left cheek.  His mother cradles him tightly, the only thing her lover deigned to give her before they left.  She thinks: What kind of person will he be, that his soulmate will want to hurt him? She spends his childhood teaching him to keep his head down, showing him how to endure the worst the world has to offer.  When she takes him to school, she drops him off with a hug and a reminder to be strong.

Wyatt is ten years old when he casts his first spell.  The bell rings to signal end of period, and he begins to pack up his bag when a shadow falls across him.  He looks up to see Forgive-Our-Sins-Forged-At-The-Pulpit-With-Forked-Tongues-Selling-False-Sermons leaning with affected nonchalance against his desk.  They don’t acknowledge him, choosing instead to examine their fingernails, until finally he clears his throat and asks what he can do for them. Their hand flies to their chest, and their eyes go wide, as if they are offended by the very idea that they would want anything from  _ him _ , but when he presses--carefully, with a well-regulated tone--they admit that they want to copy his notes.

Wyatt finishes gathering his things.  He knows full well that Sins spent the entire class doodling instead of listening.  He is also very aware that they have spent the better part of the last few years shoving his head into a toilet.  He slides out of his chair and shoulders his bag, checking his exits. The teacher is gone, and two other elves stand at the door, their postures too stiff for Wyatt to think that they were idling.   

He thinks of his mother, taking her third job so that she could afford to send him to school with the elves.  She keeps giving and giving and giving, swallowing her pride, to give him the best opportunities possible. The indignities don’t matter, she would say, because in the end you will rise above them.  Wyatt holds out the carefully-rolled parchment, fingers trembling. Sins smiles when they take it. He thinks that maybe he’s home free--maybe his mother was right, and sometimes you just had to pay dues--and offers a weak smile back, but when he goes to leave, the elves blocking the doorway don’t move.   _You didn’t think you were getting away that easy, did you, half-breed?_

He hides the bruises from his mother when he gets home, and cries himself to sleep.

When he wakes up in the morning, it is with new determination.  For the next several weeks, he dutifully copies down the equations from the board.  He hands the parchment over to Sins. He endures their torment. And then he goes home and opens up his mother’s old book of beginner spells, and he practices.  He memorizes the incantations, perfects the hand motions, and then he learns how to cast without words, how to adjust the somatic component to fit his needs. It takes him weeks, but finally he is ready. 

Sins towers over him, picking at their fingernails.  Wyatt’s heart is pounding in his chest. He thinks that maybe they’ll kill him, for what he’s about to do.  He thinks that maybe, he doesn’t really care. He stands smoothly and holds out the parchment. His hand doesn’t tremble at all.  Sins takes the roll with a smile, and oh, how he hates that smile. It’s a shark’s smile, cold and heartless and nowhere close to reaching their eyes.  They slide the roll into their bag. The other elves close in.

And Wyatt snaps his fingers.

The parchment, and Sins’s bag with it, go up instantly in flames.  They yelp and drop it, jumping back quickly. Their friends rush forward to stomp out the fire, and there is a satisfying crunch as they destroy the bag and its contents in the process.  Wyatt’s halfway across the room by now, and he’s laughing. He keeps laughing as he runs, even as he hears the pounding of boots behind him as they give chase. It worked. It worked  _ perfectly _ .  He whoops with joy and darts around a corner, drawing stares from the other students. 

They catch him, of course.  He is not an athlete, and they are bigger and stronger than he is.  They don’t kill him, though, and in that they teach him another valuable lesson without meaning to.  From that day forward, Sins continues to torment him, but Wyatt gives back nearly as good as he gets.  He develops a scathing wit and languid arrogance to taunt them. He humiliates them in class and lets fire fly from his fingers at recess.

If his mother notices the change, she doesn’t say anything, but he sees the pride in her eyes when she looks at him.  His teachers do say something, often, but their criticism rolls off his back. They tell him that he is bright, and should turn the other cheek.  He takes the punishment without a word, back straight and head high.

He thinks: Being the better person is well and good, but if they’re going to hit you anyway, earn it.

* * *

It happens like this:

Otto Nakamura gives Tseer a key to Innotech Industries.  First, they lecture him about bitterness and revenge, hoping that they can change his mind.  It doesn’t work, but they hand over the key anyway. They have known what it’s like to be so driven by anger and hatred that you cannot be swayed, and they know that sometimes, you have to find your own way out of that forest.  Tseer flies to the research lab with one intention. He knows this is his best chance, knows that he may not ever get another one. His mind flutters like a caged bird, unwilling to settle on any one perch. He doesn’t want to think too much about it.

He has never killed anyone before.  

Enix Synth gives Wyatt a key to Innotech Industries.  He thanks them profusely and shakes their hand, grateful to have at least one friend left.  He moves all of his instrumentation into the small lab they have given him, places the Heart of the Raven Queen in front of his prototype, and gets to work immediately.  He doesn’t think about Stanton, or the Ki-Rin. If they revoke his power, he’ll figure something out, just like he always has. He just needs a quiet place to work. Someplace far from his apartment, and the stagnant air there.  If he can just get this prototype to work, everything else will be fine.

He tries very hard to believe that.

When Wyatt opens the door to find Tseer on the other side, he slaps the keypad to close it again, but he’s too slow.  Tseer forces his way in; Wyatt can’t get away fast enough. His back hits the Heart and he crosses his arms over his chest to Banish himself.  There is a flash of red light, the scent of pine, and the feeling of all of his body being stretched and reconfigured, and then he’s standing in an old forest--but he’s not alone.

It only takes Tseer a moment to get his bearings--or at least, get the only bearing that mattered.  His enemy is in front of him. Before Wyatt can even put his hands up, Tseer rears back and punches him right on the stark black mark on his face.  He follows it up with a spinning kick, and Wyatt collapses to the ground, wheezing. Tseer plants one foot on the center of his chest and wraps the other around Wyatt’s neck, ready to end this once and for all.  But something is different.

High on Wyatt’s left cheek, what had once been a dark smear is now a riot of red and orange.  Tseer’s right hand is tingling, and when he inspects it, he finds a matching panoply, blending smoothly at the edges of the mark into the yellow of his talon.  Wyatt gapes up at him, hands clasped around his ankle. Tseer drops his fist and pulls away, but can’t stop the words from pouring out of his beak.

“You have  _ got _ to be fucking kidding me.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you again to [gallifreyburning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gallifreyburning) for being an awesome friend and beta!


End file.
